2 days before the wedding

Chapter 36

Present day

Taormina, Italy

Conor opens his door a few minutes past midnight.

“When I arrived, and you brought my luggage upstairs…Did you choose the room that was the farthest away from yours for me?”

“You know I did.”

I grin and walk inside, brushing past him. He’s ready for bed: his hair is tousled and damp at the edges, as though he just washed his face. He wears only low-slung thin sweats that look really nice on him, and I wonder if they were purchased by the same person who keeps him in suits.

I put on what Nyota referred to as my very slutty short pj set—intentionally. “A valiant effort,” I commend him, sitting on the sill of his open window. No Etna from here, but he really does have a stunning view of the pool.

“If ultimately useless.”

“Miscalculated, huh?”

He exhales a laugh. “With you, I always do.” He closes the door, walks to the center of the room, and I have to grit my teeth at how incredibly…Conor he is. One of a kind. My kind. “Maya, it’s been a long day.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m tired. Not at my best.” It’s the same even-keeled tone he uses when he’s trying to rationally talk Kaede into not eating a crayon.

“That’s fine. I’m sure that Conor Harkness’s not best in bed is still better than most guys’ superlatives.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No? What do you mean?”

A displeased pause. “It’s not a good idea. Us, alone. It’s difficult to control myself.”

I shrug. Feel the tips of my hair bounce around my waist. It’s usually too heavy and messy to leave loose, but Conor likes it. I know it even though he never said so. “Is that why you’ve been visibly turned on since I entered the room?”

He swears under his breath.

“I don’t mind. I mean, it’s not like you can hide it.”

“Maya—”

“I’m tired, too.” I give him my most sunshine smile. “Let’s just sleep. Can I stay here?”

“You don’t want to be anywhere near me.”

“Why?”

“Because, Maya, I just got off a phone call with Tamryn’s lawyer and I’m going to have to tell her that my shithead siblings refused the settlement offer, because my closest friend’s wedding is a shitshow, and because none of my fucking quants have given me a satisfactory response on a fucking simple question that—”

“It’s okay,” I say, moving into him. I press the flat of my palms right under the jut of his ribs for balance, rise on the tip of my toes, and kiss the stubbly corner of his jaw. “Rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’m halfway to the door when his hand closes around my wrist. The veins on his forearms are in sharp relief. “I thought you wanted me to leave.”